Depression is a lonesome town, where every sinner wears a frown.
Where all Man's hopes turn upside down. Depression is a lonesome town.
Depression is a lonesome place, where solemn is each mourner's face.
Where teardrops on their lips embrace. Depression is a lonesome place.
Depression is a lonesome sigh, where time seems locked and does not fly.
Where hopes are hushed and dreams pass by. Depression is a lonesome sigh.
Depression is a heavy heart, where doubts abound and follies start.
Where wrongful thinking plays its part. Depression is a heavy heart.
I know that God turns things around, with some great insight to be found.
So think again of those still bound, so strained and drained and tightly wound.
Then pause to pray, as pilgrims should, for one another's common good.
Yet not just for your neighbourhood, but every soul misunderstood.
Because depression creeps and crawls, prayer warriors seek miracles.
Though sadness stays then steals and stalls, God can restore each life that falls.
Perchance to heal what must be healed. Perchance to strengthen and to shield.
Perchance for profits yet to yield, when revelation is revealed...
Denis Martindale, September 2018.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem